


Carry On

by icebucky



Series: brothers who hunt; jonas and winchester [1]
Category: Jonas Brothers, Supernatural
Genre: Hunter AU, Jonas Brothers - Freeform, Winchester Brothers - Freeform, au where the jonas brothers are hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icebucky/pseuds/icebucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, if things had gone differently, they would be chasing record deals instead of ghosts, but there really isn't any chance for them to go back now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been thinking about a Jonas Brothers Supernatural AU for a while now, and I finally got one out and onto paper that I actually liked, so here goes. Backstory: the Jonas parents and Frankie were killed by a demon in the fall of 2005, when Nick was 13, Joe was 16, and Kevin was 18. The boys made it out, and have spent the past four years trying to find the thing that ruined their lives and kill it. They are not, however, expecting to run into another team of hunters on the night that they finally find this demon.
> 
> Side note: this story basically diverts from reality in 2005, so the Jonas Brothers never got famous, and they pretty much live in the Supernatural universe.

It's not like Joe to be this nervous before a hunt, which is what really has Nick worried, despite the dozen other signs that should be giving him shudders.

"You okay?" he asks, nudging Joe with his shoulder where he sits beside Nick, cleaning a shotgun.

"I'm fine," Joe replies tensely, not looking up. His mouth is a hard line that makes Nick want to call off the hunt, his shoulders set and his hands busy. Nick is silent, finally prompting Joe to look up. "Seriously, Nick, I'm good. I just want this to go well."

"I know," Nick says softly, standing and walking back to the other side of the shitty motel room they were staying in. Just another set of patterned walls and musty bedspreads to call home, before they shipped out next week. Assuming the hunt went well, but it always did. Kevin says they need to keep moving, always, he told Nick that when he was thirteen, bending so that they were at eye level and forcing Nick to look up at him. It had been three months after that  _thing_ had ripped through their home and their lives and their parents and they had seen too much to keep going as though nothing had happened.

No, the pretending like nothing had happened came later in life when Joe had taken to sitting on street corners with a guitar and covering songs to get some extra cash and Nick would catch Kevin looking over wistfully, like he ached to get his hands on another guitar and get them back into the recording studio. Their lives are a constant stream of what-ifs, stemming from the brothers passing the guitar back and forth in the deep hours of the night when they have nothing else to do but sit in silence and shared memories. Sometimes Nick wonders if other families are like this, other sets of brothers, bound in tragedy and forged together by fire and together forever, because they're all they have. Each other. Nick for one knows that sometimes, as much as he'd like to taste the world on his own, he doesn't want to go anywhere without his brothers, because they've already lost too much.

They try not to think about Frankie, but when his birthday rolls around everyone gets quiet and Joe usually drinks too much, and gets into stupid fights at stupid bars and Kevin always gets a call and tells Nick to grab his stuff and head to the car so they can go take care of him. They try not to let him go off alone, but Joe has a mind of his own, especially when it comes to his well-being, and if he thinks he's personally responsible for something like this, he's more likely than not to drink himself into an oblivion of self-loathing before the day is done.

Kevin's still out, still stocking up on salt and holy water because they had finally narrowed down what the thing was that had taken their lives from them, it was a big one, it was a demon, and Nick's seventeen and has never exorcised a demon before in his life, but he and his brothers have been practicing their Latin and Nick has it memorized in the same way he still knows how to play all the chords to the first song that he and his brothers ever wrote together, even though he hasn't played it in years because it reminds him of too much. He knows the exorcism and he knows his lore and he knows Joe is nervous from the way that he's being so anal about the shotgun in his hands but he doesn't want to say anything because so many things could go wrong and he's just hoping to a God that he no longer believes in that they won't. Please, God, don't let them go wrong, he can't lose his brothers too.

Joe reassembles the shotgun on one of the musty beds and snaps it together, clicking and shoving the pieces together utterly gracelessly, and absently, Nick realizes that he never knew how Kevin got them in the first place, shouldn't the places that Kevin had acquired them from have needed more from the eighteen-year-old boy demanding firearms than just money and drive? Hadn't he needed a license to carry, or something? It doesn't really matter, Nick thinks, half of his brain reciting the exorcism again and the other half watching the way Joe refuses to loosen up, leg bouncing up and down with nerves. "God, can Kevin just hurry up?" Joe says, not really to Nick, more just to the room in particular. "Let's just get this over with."

"Joe," Nick begins, and he doesn't really know what he's going to say; he wants to convey some form of comfort to his older brother, but when Joe's head snaps to him, and his eyes are narrowed, Nick realizes that he has no idea how to make this better. "I'm sorry," he says, and he knows that's a far cry from what Joe wants to hear, but he also knows that Joe can see how sincere he is and he hopes that somehow, it could be enough.

For a split second, it looks like Joe's going to be okay, and that the worry behind his eyes is going to fade, but then his brow furrows again and he tenses and he says, "You don't have anything to apologize for, Nick," and stares intently at his hands, which makes Nick feel like everything is wrong.

Nick sighs, and he can hear Joe huff a cynical laugh that's mainly a nose exhale, and Joe continues, "Look, forget it, okay? It's not your fault, it's never been your fault, and the sooner you start fucking realizing that, the sooner we can kill this son of a bitch and move on."

"You can't kill demons," Nick says quietly, reaching up behind his head to scratch at the curly mess of hair up there. "I mean, you can, but we don't have the resources, or the juice. I mean, at the very least we'd need an ancient demon killing knife of the Kurds, and all we have is an old book and some guns."

He says this absently, meaning to keep it in his head, but his thoughts have run to the surface, and when he looks back at Joe, Joe's looking at him like that was the complete opposite of what he'd been thinking. "You're a  _massive_ nerd, Nick," Joe says, but the corner of his mouth is curled up a little, and that makes Nick relax enough so that he can smile slightly in return.

They both turn as they hear the sound of a key in the door, and Joe reaches for the shotgun slowly before the door opens and Kevin enters, holding up a hand in surrender. "It's just me," he says, coming in with a grocery bag full of rock salt and rosaries, preparing to fill up the flasks. "Everything okay here?" he asks, gesturing vaguely towards Joe's arsenal on the bed.

"Yeah, it's cool," Joe says, setting down the gun and getting up to help Kevin prep the holy water. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't a demon or a mistaken employee or something."

Nick laughs softly, imagining a housekeeping employee entering the room and seeing the mess that they've created in it by mistake. "Remind me to put the 'do not disturb' sign on the door before we leave, okay?" he says, grinning slightly.

Joe laughs, a real one this time, probably at the same mental image that Nick had. "You got it," he says, taking a jug of water and making his way towards the bathroom, and after he's out of Nick's line of vision, he can hear water running and Joe speaking over it. "So, what's the game plan, Kev?"

"Well, we know where the demon is, so I say we wait for it to get dark and then we head over and smoke out the rat."

“Brilliant idea, Holmes,” Joe calls over the water; it shuts off and he emerges from the bathroom, running a hand through his hair haphazardly. “But here’s the million dollar question: what if it calls for backup and we’re severely fucked?”

“True,” Nick says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “I mean, it’s not like we have an army of hunters ready to help our cause at our disposal.”

Kevin sighs, almost wistfully. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it,” he says, and it isn’t a question, but it leaves Nick wondering about what it would even _be_ like, to trust someone other than his brothers in a fight.

Part of him thinks that he’ll never know what that feels like, and that same part is also fiercely glad that he has the brothers he does, and that he’ll never have to watch his own back, just theirs, because they’ll always have his.

***

Oddly enough, on the other side of the motel, another set of brothers is preparing for almost exactly the same mission, except with less gusto and more resignation.

“I don’t even get why we’re doing this, Dean, I mean, this isn’t even the big leagues. We should be spending our time trying to follow leads on what _Lucifer’s_ doing,” Sam says, sitting at the table and narrowing down the location of the demon. As he suspected, the nonthreatening hell spawn was hiding out in a farmhouse just outside of town, which he was grateful for; fewer neighbors meant fewer witnesses, which meant more time for them to get away if the hunt went sideways.

Which was becoming more and more likely to happen, given the apocalyptic nature of the world right now, and the way that the Winchesters had been off their game since Lucifer popped out of the cage.

Still, they need leads, which is Dean’s reasoning for going after this demon. Sam doesn’t know who it is, and frankly, he doesn’t care, he just knows that as much as he might not like it, this is probably their best shot at getting information. Dean’s very good with a knife, and Sam’s very good at looking the other way while his brother slices and dices information out of a hostage.

These kinds of thoughts are probably sufficient evidence for why people think that they’re actually serial killers, but that’s beside the point.

“Look, man,” Dean’s saying, hands outstretched and palms up, kind of like he’s both shrugging and asking God for forgiveness, “I know you don’t want to go on a bogus hunt to take out Stunt Demon #3, but come on, we gotta do something. Besides, you of all people know we have no leads, and this could be something. We gotta hope that it’s _something._ ”

“Yeah,” Sam says softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I know, I know, Dean. I just hate wasting our time on these smaller demons. I know we can’t actually _do_ anything, but I _hate_ sitting around with our thumbs up our asses because we know _nothing_ about what’s going on out there.”

“I feel ya, Sammy,” Dean says, pushing salt rounds into his shotgun. “But we gotta do what we can, you know? And we can do this.” He stands, cocking the shotgun and hefting it into his arms, prompting Sam to stand as well. “Come on, it’ll be just like the good ol’ days,” Dean continues, grinning. “Just you, me, and some sons of bitches who really have it coming.”

And on that note, he snatches up his duffel and keys and walks out the door, clearly in a good enough mood to pull off a hunt flawlessly.

Sam shakes his head good naturedly and follows.

***

It’s dark by the time Kevin pulls up to the farmhouse, and Joe’s leg has not stopped bouncing once on the entire trip over there. He knows it’s driving everyone insane – hell, it’s driving _him_ insane – but he can’t seem to stop.

That sucks, because this goddamn nervous energy is really going to throw off his aim.

Kevin parks a little ways away from the house, so that no one driving by will really suspect anything, and Joe practically bursts out the car, swinging the duffel with the salt and holy water over his shoulder and standing with his shotgun out before Kevin has even shut off the engine fully. Shit. Shit. Shit. He can feel his arms trembling and he’s not sure he can do this on his own. Nick opens the door to the backseat and he steps out, putting a hand on Joe’s shoulder for a moment, and for just a minute, Joe can breathe because he’s not alone, he’s here with his brothers, his best friends, his team.

And then there’s a scream from the house.

None of them had paid attention to the classic black car parked in front of the house, because for some reason, they had assumed that it belonged to whoever owned this house, but the license plate is from Ohio, and they’re in Arizona, and no, Joe is running because there is someone in this house and someone is hurt and if someone is hurt and the car is there that means that more likely than not, there are other hunters here and that means that someone is going to once again take something from him, even if now it’s only the closure of knowing that the thing that completely ruined his entire life is in the ground and he is the one that put it there.

He hears his brothers calling his name behind him, but he’s already running, Joe was a runner before they lost their parents and their brother, he knows how to go fast and he knows how to get places before everyone else. He knows something about running, he’s been running his entire life, so he gets to the steps of the house and he can hear his brothers behind him, Nick silent and Kevin cursing fluently, and Joe takes the steps two at a time and when he shoulders the door open, shotgun raised, he’s greeted with two pistols in his face and two stony expressions above them.

“Fuck,” he hisses, eyes darting around the room. Everything he sees confirms his suspicions; the devil’s trap, the salt lines, the holy water flasks, the flannel that the two men in front of him are wearing. They got here first. They’d never let him finish this out. He wants, he _needs_ this done, he needs to do it himself, he doesn’t care if Nick and Kevin want to do it, it was _his_ fault that this happened, and he has to finish it the way he started it. With his mouth twisted in hate and his heart so full that he can barely breathe.

“Fuck is right, kiddo, who the hell are you?” the man with the short hair demands, stepping slightly closer. Joe notices that he’s not only holding a gun, he’s also holding a knife in his other hand, wrists crossed over each other. Joe recognizes that technique; it’s one that allows for slashing or shooting, whichever is easier, depending on what you’re fighting. It’s a technique that he remembers teaching Nick on his fifteenth birthday, one that Kevin taught him when he was seventeen.

“Who the hell are you calling _kiddo_ , asshole?” Joe snarls, and doesn’t lower his shotgun. The other man, the taller one with the longer hair, glances behind him to make sure that the demon is still secure, but only for a second, and it’s not like Joe can do anything in that second, particularly when the shorter one’s intense green eyes are still pinned on him.

“Just answer the goddamn question,” the other hunter replies, stepping forward slightly, bringing his gun closer to Joe’s chest. “Don’t give me a reason to do this.”

Joe opens his mouth, about to say something that could probably get him a bullet in the collarbone, when the door opens behind him and the tall one moves while the short one stays absolutely still, like they’ve done this a million times before. Which, he thinks, looking at their ages and the way that they handle themselves, they probably have.

“Shit!” he hears Nick say, raising his hands. “Joe, what the fuck?” his little brother demands, his voice hard. “Did you seriously have to come barging in here? They’re taking care of it, clearly.”

“Like hell, Nick, we don’t know them, how the fuck are we supposed to know that they’re doing it right?” The short haired hunter snorts, a slightly disbelieving sound that has Joe’s hair prickling in defense. “And anyway, this is _our_ hunt. Did you seriously think I’d let these fucking assholes take _this_ away from us too?”

The door opens again, and shuts almost immediately. Joe directs his attention to the man with a gun on him, and meeting his eyes, slowly lowers his own weapon to a neutral stance. “Can I let my brothers in?” he asks, a hint of sarcasm coloring his voice, but not enough to get shot.

“Sure, why not, it’s not like they’re not already out there anyway,” the other man replies, a rude smirk curling his mouth upwards. Joe narrows his eyes at him but opens the door anyway, letting Kevin in, Nick stepping further into the house.

“Dean,” the taller hunter says, turning to his partner. “Dean, they’re just _kids_.”

Dean doesn’t move, his stance still locked, even though his partner seems to be loosening up. “Yeah, we were kids once too, Sammy, doesn’t mean we weren’t dangerous.”

Sammy lowers his gun and reaches over, putting a hand over Dean’s and getting him to lower it. “It’s okay, Dean,” he says, and Joe recognizes the way that Dean looks at Sammy just now; it’s the way he looks at Kevin or Nick when he gets too rough and intense and they have to put their hand on his shoulder or his guns to get him to calm down. It’s a brother look, and suddenly, Joe gets it.

“Are you two brothers?” he says softly, and Sammy looks at him and his expression is gentle.

“Yeah, we are. Are you three?” he asks, and Nick nods.

“We’re here for the demon,” Kevin says, his voice authoritative yet kind, and Joe is more grateful than ever to have his brothers there.

The two men in front of them are much taller and stronger looking than the Jonas boys, but Joe optimistically thinks to himself that he can take them. He knows that he can’t but it’s still nice to think every once in a while.

Something in Dean’s expression changes when Kevin says that, and Joe slides the duffel from his shoulder and opens it to show the two hunter brothers in front of him the arsenal that they brought with them, and Dean steps back. He looks softer now, more open, and something in his face tells Joe that he knows exactly what it is that they’re going through.

“You lost someone?” he asks, and it’s not even really a question, it’s more of a statement. He knows that they lost someone. They’re three young boys, brothers, so Joe knows how this looks. They lost their parents. Any hunter could look at them and be able to tell that.

“Yeah,” Joe replies, barely any voice in that word. It’s almost all breath, and he clenches his fist tight around the handle of the duffel, his blunt nails digging into his palm. “Our parents. And our brother.”

“Sorry about that,” Dean says, lowering his weapons completely and holding out his hand. “Dean Winchester.”

“Joe Jonas,” Joe replies, shaking it for a brief moment before Nick and Kevin introduce themselves and he learns that Sammy doesn’t let anyone call him that except for Dean, it’s _Sam_.

Joe laughs a little. “Just like Nicky,” he says, and Nick turns and glares at him, his face kind of scrunched up, in that pouty little boy way that he has. They all shake hands amiably before Sam and Dean turn so that the Jonas brothers can see the demon that’s strapped to the chair on their other side, and Joe’s stomach drops.

He can hear Nick gasp a little bit, and he can’t help himself, it’s fucked up, and he knows this has to be done, and it’s his fault, and he wishes to god that this hadn’t happened, this wasn’t the demon that they had to deal with, this wasn’t the way that this had to go down, but it is, and the demon in that chair is wearing his baby brother’s corpse like it’s a designer outfit, and he wants to punch the fucker right in the goddamn face.

Joe had known that this was what happened from the minute they had figured out that it was a demon. He didn’t want to believe it, but he did. He knew. He knew in his deepest core, that if there was a demon in the house, it would have taken one of his parents or his brother from where they had lain on the floor, because they were fresh meatsuits, and his old one had a bullet hole in it from where Kevin had managed to grab their father’s emergency gun.

It had said it had orders to utterly destroy them, and Joe had no idea what that meant, but he knew that if they didn’t kill it, or didn’t figure out how, it would come back, and this time, it would be worse.

It was officially worse, he thinks, as he looks at his little brother.

Frankie is nine years old now, or he would be if he was alive, and as far as Joe can guess, the demon energy inside of the body had kept it developing and living and growing, even though the kid probably doesn’t eat and just zaps around everywhere. His little brother is tied to that chair and Joe knows from the way that Sam and Dean are looking at him and his brothers, they know that something is wrong and they hadn’t wanted to do this to a little kid, if he was still alive, but they know that he is a demon and they had to do what they had to do.

The entire pause probably lasts a few seconds, but to Joe, it feels like an eternity. This is the most fucked up think he has ever even considered doing, but he takes a step forward and turns toward his brothers.

He can see Nick looking at him like he’s a murderer that needs to be placated but who can still be saved, and Kevin is watching him like he’s afraid he’s going to do something insane, but Joe knows what has to be done.

His little brother is dead, nothing can ever change that.

It's as though he has a silent conversation with his eyes with his brothers, and when he looks back to the Winchesters, Joe’s mind is made up, and he knows that Nick and Kevin are behind him on this. Joe clears his throat, and focuses on Dean, saying, “That wouldn’t happen to be an ancient demon killing knife of the Kurds, would it?”

Dean laughs humorlessly, flipping it in his hand so that the handle faces Joe and hands it to him. “I gotta give you credit, Jonas, you know your stuff,” he says as Joe takes it.

“My brother’s a nerd,” is the only explanation Joe gives, and while he can tell Nick gives him the obligatory scowl, he also smiles softly before watching his brother walk forward toward the demon.

He advances, just outside of the Devil’s Trap, flipping the knife around in his fingers, before leaning in and grabbing the demon’s chin. Joe tries to stifle the flood of memories that nearly engulfs him as he does, forcing the demon to look at him. Its eyes are black, and that’s the only thing that makes him able to do this, to kill this thing that ruined their lives and tore apart their family.

He should do it. He should stab this thing through the neck and get it over with, but his hands are shaking and he doesn’t know why he can’t make himself move. He doesn’t want to hear Nick say what he says next, just his name from the back of the room, and he doesn’t want to turn around and see Kevin walking towards him and taking the knife out of his hands and he doesn’t want to see the way that Sam and Dean are looking at the brothers in confusion, and he doesn’t want to go into the other room and sit down at the table and explain to them why this happened and what happened and why this demon is wearing their little brother, but he does.

He does, and he doesn’t want to cry, but he does.

Sam takes a packet of tissues out of his pocket and Dean shoves him and calls him a nerd and Joe takes the tissues and sucks down the pain and lets Kevin pat him on the shoulder and make him feel better and they’re all silent until Dean breaks it.

“So I know what we’re all wondering. What are we going to do next?”

There’s a pause, but Nick says, voicing what all three brothers are thinking, “That’s not Frankie anymore.”

“We know,” Sam says, leaning forward slightly. “But the whole reason that we’re here is to try to get information on what Lucifer is up to, what the demons are doing next. We really have no idea what’s happening next, just that there’s apparently a big battle on the horizon so –”

“Wait,” Kevin interrupts, his hand still on Joe’s shoulder. “Lucifer? As in the devil himself?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean says cynically, leaning back in his chair. “We’re facing endtimes, boys. Sammy and I fucked up and now the devil’s outta the box and we’re picking up the pieces.”

The Jonas brothers look at each other for a few seconds and Sam can see them all filing these thoughts away for later. “Okay,” Joe says slowly, picking at the cuticles on his thumb. “You gotta explain this to us later. But uh, you said you needed information from the demon. How exactly do you –” He pauses when he sees Dean wiggling the knife, a solemn expression on his face.

“Sorry, kiddo, we gotta do what we gotta do,” he says, standing. “And if it’s okay with you guys, we’re gonna get what we can and then you can have the pleasure of dispatching the demon that fucked up your lives. Give me thirty minutes and you can finish the job.”

The brothers look at each other again, and finally Kevin says, “Go do it,” and Dean nods and leaves the room. Sam smiles at them briefly and follows his brother.

***

Dean’s right, it only takes about thirty minutes before the screaming has stopped and the demon in the other room has told them absolutely everything that it knows.

Sometimes he hates that he’s right, but it’s time for this sucker to disappear forever, and one of the other brothers sitting in the back room has to do it.

Dean walks in after cleaning up – he doesn’t think the Jonas boys should really see their little brother’s blood on his hands – and almost backs out because what he’s walked in on is far more intimate than he thinks he has a right to see, as someone who isn’t a part of their family.

Kevin’s still standing, a hand on Joe’s shoulder, but that hand is clenched now, and he has a hand up to his mouth. It looks like he’s been biting at the knuckle of his first finger, and his face is white. He’s not looking at his brothers, but it’s clear that he’s trying his hardest not to break down. Joe’s done crying, it looks like; he’s sitting at the table with his elbows up on the edge and his hands just sitting out there, and he looks completely blank and dead, his large dark eyes staring, unfocused, at the wood grain of the table. Nick is sitting in the seat next to him, and God, Dean thinks, this kid is probably seventeen or eighteen, and it shows how scared he is in the way that he’s gripping Joe’s hand in his own. Dean can see the look in his eyes – he’s been on hunts before, but not like this. Never like this.

But it’s done, and Dean knows from experience that the best thing for the brothers right now is to get this over with so that they can start the healing process as soon as possible. These three are raw, they’re walking wounds, feeding off of each other and caring for each other in a way that Dean recognizes far too much, it’s how he and Sam are. He doesn’t want to interrupt their brother bonding time, even though he knows that it’s in shared loss that they’re so close.

Dean clears his throat and steps into the room.

All three boys look at him at the same time, and he’s struck by how much they look like _brothers_.

“We’re done,” he says simply, and they stand and start to walk towards him.

“What did you find out?” Kevin asks, lingering behind his brothers to try and get Dean to tell him.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Dean says, clapping Kevin on the shoulder. “Wrong time, wrong place.” Kevin nods and lets the conversation fall silent.

They get back into the front room, where Sam’s sitting with a shotgun aimed at the demon, but his hands are loose; the demon’s unconscious. Dean can see Joe swallow nervously and the young man turns to him, eyes wide and wild again, and he holds out his hand. “You mind if I borrow your knife, Dean?” he asks, and Dean obliges, pulling it out of his belt and handing it to him.

“Joe…” Kevin says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”

Joe looks at Kevin, and there’s more hardness in his eyes than Dean thinks that he’s ever seen in a twenty-year-old. “Yes, I do, Kevin. It’s my fault. I clean up my own messes.”

He grips the knife hard and, without warning, drives it deep into the demon’s chest.

The red-orange light flickers and goes out.

Joe drops the knife and steps back, and Dean can see how terrified he is in his eyes. He keeps stepping back until he hits a wall, where he sinks down and sits, silently, for about ten minutes as Dean unties the body and Sam checks for a pulse, even though everyone in the room knows that there won’t be one.

Half an hour later, they burn the body in the backyard and drive back to the motel.

They all stay in the same room that night, talking about monsters and ghosts and the apocalypse and their fathers, and somehow they all manage to end up laughing a little at about four in the morning. Sam promises to teach Nick about research techniques and Latin and making a normal life, and Dean speaks to Kevin in a low voice about being an older brother and the responsibilities that come with it and they bond over their shared duties. Joe falls asleep on Dean’s shoulder and eventually, Nick automatically curls up next to him. Sam offers to take the couch and Kevin ends up sleeping in the other bed alone, which is fine by him since it allows him to have a better vantage point over his brothers and the Winchesters, and gives him a better view of the door. Just in case.

The next morning, Sam and Dean put their phone numbers into the Jonas boys’ phones, send them to an address of an ‘old friend’ in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, pat them on the shoulders, and tell them to take care of themselves, and to call if they need anything.

It’s the apocalypse though, so as the two sets of brothers separate, they’re both sure that they’ll be using those numbers soon enough.


End file.
